Pipe Dreams
by wolfish
Summary: Vaughn takes some time to recover post-‘Repercussions’, but finds it’s not so restful as he thought it would be.


Title: Pipe Dreams

Author: wolfish

Rating: PG-13

Time: Post-'Repercussions'

Disclaimer: Alias belongs to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, ABC, and others. Not me.

Summary: Vaughn takes some time to recover post-'Repercussions', but finds it's not so restful as he thought it would be.

Author's Note: This note is to acknowledge that this may confuse some people. But the point of the story is for the reader to decide what is real and what is imagined. It may be nothing, or it may be everything. None of this is clear-cut. I would like to know your thoughts though, to know if anyone else sees this quite as I do, so please leave a review. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sweetheart," Lauren called between the jingle of keys and the rustle of various objects being gathered together, "please don't forget to take the pills the doctor gave you."

Safely hidden behind the shield of the morning paper, Vaughn grimaced. Understandably, Lauren had been concerned about him since his release from the hospital, but he'd only been home for less than a day and a half and she was already wearing his nerves thin with her fussing. He tried to preach patience to himself though, and hoped to interject some sense of false humor into the situation with a playful answer, "I'm sure if I did, the pain would remind me before long."

It was the wrong thing to say, of course. He should have know that, did know it as soon as the words passed his lips. She hated when he made light of the incident; she never understood that if he took it as seriously as she did, he would never be able to face what had happened that night.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that." Her voice shook like he had known it would, whether with tears or rage it was hard to distinguish. "You could have _died_, Michael."

"I know." His voice was colder than he meant, but he couldn't find the will to thaw his tone. "I was there."

She sighed, and he felt her coming into the room behind him, but he refused to turn. His back remained straight and inflexible; he could be stubborn if need be. 

"I don't want to leave angry." She was pleading now, abruptly switching her tactics to a technique she knew would always bring him around; she sounded so pitiful sometimes, it was easy to forget to be mad. "Just take your medicine, get some rest. I want you feeling better as soon as possible. I hate driving to work alone."

He shoulders relaxed. "You know I was planning on taking it all along."

"I know." She draped her arms around him where he sat at the kitchen table, leaning her cheek against his hair. After a moment she dropped a cursory kiss on his cheek, with a hastily murmured, "Behave," before stepping away.

He finished the article he had been reading before laying the paper aside and setting a course for the bathroom, where he knew she must have stashed the pills the doctor had entrusted her with. That was one thing he loved about her: she was predictable in all her ways.

He opened the cabinet and fished through the odd multitude of objects they had shoved inside when they had moved in and never found time to straighten out, finally retrieving the cylindrical orange bottle. He twisted off the cap, and then hesitated, opening his mouth to yell for Lauren and ask her how much he was supposed to take, but the sound of the front door closing silenced him. He transferred a few tablets into his hand and juggled them between his fingers, considering, before sloshing all but two back into the container. He was certain the doctor had said two. He set them on his tongue and quickly chased them with water.

_Pain medication_, he mused as he replaced the bottle in a corner where it would be simple to find again. He hoped it was strong enough, because he had only been up for barely over an hour and already his breath was burning agonizingly in his healing wounds. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The insistent echo of the doorbell pried him from the clutches of a deep sleep. He almost rolled over, believing it was more get-well flowers from someone he barely knew, but he couldn't shake the apprehension that he may be missing some important caller. He sat up on the couch where he had dozed off, running his hand over his hair as he tried unsuccessfully to shake the weighty fatigue that seemed to be an unfortunate side effect of his new prescription. The doorbell rang again, more frantically, as he coerced himself onto his feet and across the suddenly monstrous distance to the door.

"Sydney." Perhaps she was the last person he expected to see outside of his door, but a part of himself would always be elated merely to see her alive again.

"I know you're wondering…" She shifted from foot to foot. "I came because I thought we needed to talk after—everything." Something like a smile flitted elusively over her expression. "But now that I'm here, it doesn't seem like such a great idea anymore."

"Come in," he invited, stepping back to open the entrance wider, not allowing himself the time to consider of the consequences of his decision, "and I'll decide if your trip down here was worth it."

She followed him warily, her eyes flickering around the unfamiliar surroundings in a way he remembered well—like she was evaluating the quickest exits.

He pushed aside the blankets on the couch he had so recently occupied and offered her a seat. "I wasn't expecting any company today," he explained in rough apology, but she shook her head to say it didn't matter.

When she remained mute, staring around her like a trapped animal, he cleared his throat, stirring uneasily in his place at a respectable distance from her.

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"Yes." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I felt I needed set some things straight between us when—when no one else was around." 'No one else' meant someone in particular. She was afraid that having Lauren around might somehow influence his judgment on her. She had sorely underestimated him.

She inhaled deeply, and she was a long time letting that breath go. "Vaughn, when they brought you out all beaten like that, when Simon aimed the gun at you…" A shudder ran over her, valiantly concealed as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I stabbed you because I thought it was best, because there was nothing else I could do. I've never felt that powerless before. I couldn't think of any other option to get us both out alive, and I wanted so badly to know what had happened over those two years, and Simon was the key to that…But I need you to know I never wanted to see you hurt like that, that if I could have done anything else…I didn't mean what I said, out there."

"Syd." He weighed the implications of his words carefully; he was always walking such a thin line with her. "I don't know what anybody else has told you, but what you did was unbelievably brave. I can't lie, it hurt like hell, and I can't begin to explain how betrayed I felt, and for awhile I was so sure I was going to die out there…But, now, what scares me most is that I know, if our positions had been reversed, I couldn't have done what you did. I wouldn't have been strong enough to put aside everything else for a chance to save you. So, I guess what needs to be said is thank you."

"It was worth the embarrassment of coming, just to hear you say that." She made another attempt at a smile, but she was too close to tears to manage it for long. Vaughn held his hands, unsure of what was expected of him and frightened that any movement on his part would unleash the emotion she was holding in check, but she solved his dilemma for him. "Vaughn, it must seem like a horrible thing to ask, considering everything, but can you hold me? Only for a minute."

It was awkward, sliding across the space he had been so determined to keep between them and lining up for the hug, but she shifted her hips and he adjusted his arm there…and it felt almost as natural as it always had before, as much giving comfort as taking it.

"Vaughn?"

He lifted his head from where it had fallen effortlessly against the crown of her hair.  "Hmm." She pushed lightly on his chest, a slight pressure as she moved herself away, and both their arms fell back to their sides.

"There's a mission tomorrow to get ready for. Italy. I should probably go."

He wanted to be polite and ask what was in Italy. He wanted to break down and try to describe the wordless sorrow, his empathy for her, his fierce desire to fix her back in her proper place in the world. He wanted to pull her back to him and say nothing at all, simply rediscover something newly awoken in him, something he had so long given up for dead. To let it slip through his fingers now, when he had finally stumbled upon it, would be a tragedy beyond measure. But his tongue failed him. "Yeah, you should."

That woeful, hunted look lit in her gaze again, but she dashed away the last of the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand, and led the two of them back to the door, where he reached out to open it before her.

He watched the stiff way she took the steps and couldn't suppress the certainty that it was unjust for her to leave like that, without him saying anything.

"Sydney."

She spun around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet; it was a rare sight of late, to see her so openly unbalanced in front him. It was only more evidence that they were no longer the confidants they had once been, all that trust gone.

"Good luck in Italy."

This time the smile was genuine.

He stood a long time after her car had disappeared from sight, leaning thoughtfully against the doorframe, before he at last turned and went back inside, nap forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't actually Sydney's mission, Lauren explained to him over Chinese takeout, but Sloane's, his first meeting with a high-ranking man within the Covenant; Sydney and Weiss were going along to monitor him. Lauren told him everything that had occurred in his absence, from Marshall's bumblings to the last details of Dixon's debriefing, taking distinct relish in describing Sydney's fit over her newest assignment and how she had stormed out of the room and vanished from the building for the rest of the day.

He wished he could do the same for her, but Sydney's visit was something that Lauren would be better off not knowing of. They would always argue over Sydney; Lauren would never know her like he did, never see the other woman as anything beyond a rival.

But that didn't lessen the guilt of lying to his wife. Or the guilt over how comfortable he was becoming with deceiving her. Even worse, that it was doubly Sydney's fault, but he couldn't bring himself to blame her in the least. It was a stain on his own soul for seeking the route of minimum conflict.

She must have noticed the gray pallor his face took on because she persuaded him into two more pills and ensured he was in bed soon after that. And despite the turmoil plaguing his mind that should have kept him restless until the early hours of the morning, he was asleep within minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Vaughn, what are you doing here?"

The unexpected sound of her voice startled him, but he held himself still, unwilling to show just how edgy he had become lately, like peril was lurking just out of the corner of his eye. "Cabin fever." She took the chair across from him, coffee clutched between her hands. "It's like being under house arrest. If I had to stay in there any longer, I was going to go insane."

"Are you supposed to be driving?"

"No. But I trust you won't tell my doctor." He dug through the remainder of his sandwich as he hunted for conversation. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"Day off. " She took a careful sip of the hot beverage. "It was better than being alone with myself."

"And Italy? How did things go?"

"Boring. No bombs, no threats on my life, no plots for world domination—no one even _attempted_ to kill Sloane. I was going to gnaw my own hand off just for a little danger."

"Was it really that bad?"

"Nah. Just uneventful. Though Weiss and I did find a nice restaurant to have lunch at."

"He broke his diet for you?"

"No. I'm still not sure how he made it through an entire meal without touching a starch."

He chuckled into the silence, but when it stretched on between them, he hefted the devastated remains on his tray, scoping out the nearest trashcan. "I should leave," he clarified, meeting her eyes. "If I'm not home before Lauren comes back, I'm not sure how I'm going to explain this to her. She's been very strict about keeping me an invalid."

"Do you want me to follow you home? It would make me feel better," she added softly, climbing to her feet.

He hadn't felt anxious on his drive out to lunch, but on his way home, as silly as it seemed, he was nervous. He shouldn't have driven in his condition. His eyes darted rapidly, diligently observing the cars surrounding him, his knuckles were white on the wheel, and a sweat broke out on his forehead. It was there, shadowing his every move, lurking in the wrong turn of the wheel, in a delayed reaction. He had seen Weiss's darkness that night, and he wasn't ready to let go yet.

But there was nothing to worry about. If he had glanced in his rearview mirror, he would have seen Sydney, following close behind. How could he doubt that she would keep him safe? She was still in love with him; it was an unavoidable fact, unnerving as it was. He knew from experience in the bottom of a glass that it was a hard feeling to shake, even harder because for her, nothing had changed, there had been no two years, no transition. 

And maybe nothing had changed for him as well. She was the same person: she still had the power to draw him; she still infuriated him; she was still there at his back even now, a reassuring presence of wellbeing. 

Or maybe, they had come full circle, back to the place where they began, two wounded individuals with a need for distance and an instinctive dependence, warring constantly for control. That was perhaps the most disturbing thought of all, that he had so little restraint, that it could happen just as easily as the first time, that he could start that bewildering fall for a second time.

She walked him to his door, standing a step away as he scuffled feebly with his keys. His hands had begun to shake inexplicably, long, uncontrollable tremors, and the key kept sliding past the lock. Her hand wrapped itself around his fingers, a firm grip that held them steady long enough to unlock the door, then they fell away and his disobedient hands shook in spite of himself again.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, self-conscious over his obvious weakness. "I'm not myself yet."

The hug took him by surprise, her arms capturing him in an intense grip before he could protest or react. "I miss you so much sometimes." His heart pounded in his chest, his palms were slick. "Just being like we were today, just talking, spending time together. I miss being friends most of all."

His hands remembered their old position on her back, there and there, pulling her more easily against him. "We shouldn't." His breath was deserting him again, and he couldn't manage more than a whisper.

"No," she agreed. She moved her head to the side and their lips brushed lightly.

"_Sydney_."

More recklessly this time, hands in hair, hands tugging on clothes, teeth and tongues.

"Go," he begged. His hands were quaking.

He shut his eyes tight so he wouldn't have to watch her leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lauren's arms came around his waist gently, cautious of every sore spot. Her lips sought the joint of his neck and shoulder, tantalizingly slow. He seized her by her wrists, catching her mouth with his own, desperate to remember her and forget the rest. He still loved her, he had to.

His damaged lung flared, doubling him over with the pain, his breathing becoming dangerously shallow as he struggled with some invisible band around his chest. He gripped the tabletop with both hands, trying to retain a foothold against the darkness threatening his vision. "Pills," he managed to wheeze.

She ran for his medication, and when she had helped him to swallow that, she took his hand tenderly, leading him back to the bedroom. She laid him down, pulling the covers over him, troubled by the way his body shivered, and enfolded his fingers with hers, staring anxiously down at him long after she was sure he was sound asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She came to him because he was too proud to come to her. He opened the door and she took a step inside; he stumbled in his haste to stagger back. He heard her foot catch the door, heard the click as it closed.

"You shouldn't be here."

"It isn't fair to any of us to ignore what happened."

"It shouldn't have happened. It won't happen again. _I love my wife_."

She advanced; he retreated.

"But it _did_ happen, Vaughn. I'm not going to torture myself over something while you disregard it."

"What do you want from me, Sydney?" His back hit the wall. His hands were trembling.

"Nothing. I just want to understand."

"Understand? Understand what? _I _don't even understand."

"Vaughn—"

"Why, Sydney? Why won't you go away? You're always here with me." He tried to regulate his breathing, tried not to look into the confusion on her face, into her dark, molten eyes. "I told you once how I talked to you after you died. But, you know what?" Laughter choked bitter in his throat. "I never stopped talking, and you never stopped answering. 'What should I have for breakfast this morning, Sydney?' 'Is there time to stop by the dry cleaners, Sydney?' 'What should I say to Sydney today, Sydney?' You're still there, alive or dead or…or somewhere in between, your ghost is always there, that little voice in my head. It gets so hard sometimes, to separate reality from my imagination. And there are times when…when I want so badly for it all, all this stuff in my mind, to be real."

"Vaughn." Her voice came to him in a half-whisper through the drumming in his ears. Her hand was there on his arm, flame-hot, branding his skin, leaving her signature on him. _Mine_. "I'm here. I'm as real as I'll ever be."

This was the point of turning back, if he had the strength to. He could hold on to the man he wanted to be, if only he could move his mouth to say no.

Her lips seared his. He reached for her.

But he wasn't that brave, he never has been. He was only the kind of man he despised: weak. Here, now, the final battle had been fought, but the war had already been lost long ago, in a time beyond memory.

This was what surrender felt like.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh." Lauren's hands were ice-chilled on his feverish forehead, stroking the hair back in long, cold sweeps. "It was only a dream. A nightmare. Everything's alright."

His stomach was constricted and his breathing was thin, his whole body stretched tight in unbearable agony, tenuous vibrations running through its whole length.

"It's okay, Michael. It was just a dream."

"Lauren," he panted, "Lauren. I think I…I need my pills."

END.


End file.
